led floor.

He could see there were only a few customers--not more than five or six
people, all told. He looked around slowly, holding his viola case
under one arm, the other hand laid across the top of it. He was the
only white person in the establishment.

Nobody turned to look at him, but kept right on with what they were
doing--drinking and smoking, talking quietly. It seemed comfortable
enough--and he saw some things of interest at the far end of the room.
There were four tables at that end, under dim spotlights.

Jurgen walked slowly past the booths toward the spotlights. A double
bass sat on its side near the wall as if it were the subject of the
spotlights' illumination--it might jump up and break into song any
moment. An upright piano stood on the left, lurking warily in the
shadows, its top opened like a gaping jaw. Jurgen knew this all meant
music, and he made his way between the tables to sit at the one nearest
the instruments. It was partially shadowed; an unlit candle stood in
the middle of the round table--a square table-cloth in white and red
checks draped haphazardly, held in place by the candle. Jurgen sat
slowly on the nearest wooden chair, facing the music; it creaked when
he put his weight on it. He set his viola case on the table and slid
it over so he could rest his left elbow on it.

He felt something stir, and looked behind him. A young woman in a
sleeveless sky-blue dress approached out of the shadows. Her hair was
pulled back tightly against her head, white teeth gleamed in her dark
face. She put one hand on the back of the nearest booth, and leaning
upon it, spoke to him.

"What'll it be?" she asked with quiet confidence. Her chin rose when
she finished asking, and she tilted her head to one side, smiling.

Jurgen gazed at her--she had a pretty face with a narrow chin and
strikingly high cheekbones; her black eyes sparkled in the spotlight.
He did not really feel like drinking anything intoxicating. "Something
soft," he answered. "Something quite soft and preferably cool."

She nodded and shoved herself off gracefully, trailing one hand.
Jurgen waited in silence, staring at the back wall. In a few moments,
the musicians--three black men in baggy workmen's clothing--returned to
the stage, gliding in stealthily, creeping from a door to one side.
Without a word, they sat down and took up their instruments. The bass
player heaved his double bass upright, then sat upon a hi